


Fealty

by GemmaRose



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Decepticon Ratchet, Established Relationship, M/M, Polyamory, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stress Relief, Threesome - M/M/M, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Leading anything involves a lot of stress, a lot of meetings, a lot of frustration. Leading the planet, however, should at least come with a few perks. With their rule still so new, Ratchet and Deadlock may have to provide those perks themselves, but that's plenty alright with Megatron.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Megatron/Ratchet
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	Fealty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RHplus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RHplus/gifts).



> This is a continuation of my Ratchet Week fic [Day 1: Duty / Desire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353539), written for my wonderful friend RH

Either Deadlock had a spare sense for Megatron’s location, or he’d planted a tracker on the mech. Their leader was in what the rank and file had already dubbed the Throne Room, though the sign which had been blasted off the wall and left on the floor labelled it as having been a private study. The room itself had one wall of solid transparasteel, a large desk shoved unceremoniously up against the far wall, and an ornate chair which, honestly, did rather look like a throne. Not at all Megatron’s style though. The frivolous luxuries of the old guard looked cheap and tacky framing his solid figure as he stared out the window.

“It’d look better in purple,” Deadlock said, striding confidently to where Megatron sat in the middle of the room and seating himself in their Lord’s lap. “Gold’s not your colour.”

“Deadlock,” Megatron sighed, and Ratchet approached the desk-chair-turned-throne.

“How did the meeting go?” Ratchet asked, seating himself on the arm of the throne when Megatron patted it.

“Better than I hoped,” Megatron smiled, optics brightening slightly. “Iacon is ours, and most of the structural damage was suffered by buildings which we would’ve torn down and replaced anyways.”

“That’s good,” Ratchet smiled, filing away the conversation he’d had with Optimus as unnecessary information. Orion, when he knew him, had been a sensible mech, if one who rarely questioned orders. There was still time for him to see sense, and Megatron respected strength. For Orion to have survived what Megatron deemed fatal damage would surely earn some measure of respect.

“You’re tense,” Deadlock murmured, his field warm and inviting as he made himself comfortable in Megatron’s lap. “What can we do to help, My Lord?”

Megatron’s field shivered with interest, one heavy hand lifting to rest on Deadlock’s thigh, thumb tracing the edge of thick armour plates which made their speedster so dangerous in alt-mode. “Hmm, what was the best thing that happened to you today?” he asked, engine revving up a gear from its previous idle purr.

“I got to shoot some Primal Guardsmechs in the face,” Deadlock grinned, fangs sharp and glinting.

“And some in the back as they fled like cowards,” Megatron nodded. “Soundwave mentioned.”

Deadlock beamed, and Megatron’s attention turned to Ratchet, free hand resting on his leg.

“The medbay here is wonderfully well stocked,” Ratchet said, placing his hand over Megatron’s. “We had enough berths and equipment we didn’t lose a single Con who came in, and those who haven’t been discharged are all stable.”

“And soon, you will have everything you could wish for,” Megatron smiled, rubbing his thumb over a seam on Ratchet’s inner thigh.

“What about me?” Deadlock asked, leaning in with a playful rev of his engine.

“Oh, I think you have all you want already,” Megatron smirked, his modesty panels transforming away and spike rising up against Deadlock’s still-covered array. “You just have to take it.”

Drift’s panels snapped aside at the implicit permission, and Megatron’s field went warm and soft against Ratchet’s, meshing where they met, arousal pulsing hotter with every wanton little sound Deadlock made working himself down onto Megatron’s impressive spike. Megatron’s hand lifted from Ratchet’s thigh, and Ratchet let himself be pulled into a kiss, firm and sure as ever, Megatron’s glossa swiping into his mouth like a claim, as if Ratchet hadn’t already sworn his very spark to his Lord and their Cause.

Ratchet returned the kiss with equal force and fervor, lifting both his hands to clasp the sides of Megatron’s helm and hold him in place. This was where he belonged, no matter what Optimus thought. It felt _right_ , holding Megatron close and being held in turn, safe, protected, whole despite the piece of his spark casing which now sat front and center on his chestplate. Megatron chuckled, and his hand came to rest on Ratchet’s side, fingers tapping insistently at the cover of his hardline ports. ::Open for me.::

::You first.:: Ratchet fired back, not wanting to break their kiss, and the cover on Megatron’s wrist slid back. A moment later they were plugged into each other, clearances granted, and Ratchet reflexively checked Megatron’s systems for injury or infection. There was some minor lingering damage, but nothing self-repair wasn’t already handling. An incoming info packet and Megatron’s deft touch pulled Ratchet’s focus away from medical matters, and Ratchet’s engine revved hard at the burst of sensation that spread through him when he unpacked the files.

Deadlock’s valve was nearly vice-tight around Megatron’s spike, a slick, clenching drag as he fragged himself as hard as he could, field a swirling, dripping mess of lust and affection, loyalty and deference, eagerness edging on desperation. It was intoxicating, even moreso when Ratchet reached out to twine his field with Deadlock’s and felt a burst of joy.

“Ratchet-” Deadlock moaned, leaning forward to brace one hand on Megatron’s broad chest and groping for Ratchet with the other. Ratchet took his hand, and Megatron shot over a one-time-run mirroring program. He opened it automatically, and Megatron let out the most gratifying sound when Drift took Ratchet’s fingers in his mouth, glossa dipping expertly between seams to play with the wealth of sensor nodes there. Ratchet dove back into Megatron’s processor, seeking out primary processing this time and prodding extraneous threads. Cybertron wouldn’t collapse in the next few cycles, and anything short of catastrophe, Soundwave could handle.

Megatron prodded him right back as all but a few threads fell silent and inactive, shelved for the moment, and Ratchet moaned at the feeling of Megatron’s mental claws raking carefully through his processor, disentangling old threads and plucking extraneous ones out by the root. Deadlock brought himself down hard on Megatron’s spike, taking a third of Ratchet’s fingers in his mouth like he wanted to deepthroat them, and Ratchet moaned loudly as Megatron swatted every thread in primary processing right out of his helm. For one blissful moment there was only the present, Megatron rifling through his memories and Deadlock pleasuring them both.

Then a third mind pressed into Ratchet’s processor, Deadlock requesting unrestricted access as usual. As usual, Ratchet denied him all but primary and unshielded memory, and charge surged through the link as Deadlock sent a hefty memory packet alongside a mirroring program of his own. Ratchet ran it parallel to Megatron’s, passing it on to his Lord as his optics rolled back and his vocaliser spat static. He knew the limits of Deadlock’s frame, knew how close to them Megatron ran, and yet it was always a surprise to feel just how _much_ Megatron was in Deadlock’s valve.

Megatron’s powerful engine revved, his hand on Ratchet’s side tightening as he pressed Deadlock’s memory file at him, and Ratchet unpacked and opened it. His own processor automatically brought up the same incident from his own memory banks, and he could sense Megatron doing the same. He’d still been new in the Arena, hadn’t let them touch his paintjob yet. Megatron had agreed to train him in exchange for lessons, pressed a blade into his hand, settled up against his back to show him how to hold it. Ratchet recalled the steady warmth of Megatron’s frame, the low rumble of his engine. It meshed seamlessly with Megatron’s own memory of the event, Ratchet’s frame small and sturdy against him, a mech to pay attention to, one who did not belong.

 **Yet**. Drift appended, pushing his own memory to the fore. In his optics they had been the only mechs in the arena, starkly beautiful, captivating. Pristine white and medic red against battle-scarred grey, moving together slowly, smoothly, Megatron’s hips against Ratchet’s aft. Drift twisted in Megatron’s lap, and all three of them cried out as Megatron’s spike hit his ceiling node, his hand not plugged into Ratchet’s at their wrists scrabbling for purchase on Megatron’s chestplate. His denta scraped over Ratchet’s fingers, pushing him right to the brink of overload, and then Megatron plugged into Deadlock. The circuit completed, charge surged through all three of them, and for a long moment there was no thought at all, Ratchet’s overload tripping Megatron and Deadlock’s both, the three of them feeding into each other until Megatron’s charge exhausted itself.

“Tha’w’s nice,” Deadlock mumbled, slumped against Megatron’s broad chest, audial pressed to their Lord’s deceptibrand.

“Very,” Ratchet agreed, his vocaliser clogged with static. Deadlock whined softly when he was removed from Megatron’s spike, Ratchet’s hand falling from his mouth into his trembling claws as Megatron shifted him to the other arm.

“Perhaps when I get a proper throne I should make sure it’s big enough for all of us,” Megatron mused, and Ratchet chuckled, seeing Megatron’s mental image of said throne, an austere construction of purpled metal, the back bearing their faction symbol and arms wide enough for Ratchet to comfortably sit on. Himself sat regal in the center, the two of them perched on either side, his own beautiful agents of life and death.

Drift’s engine revved weakly, then stronger when Megatron stood up, scooping each of them up in one arm. Ratched grabbed onto him with a yelp, and Megatron chuckled, playful offense flicking over the link at Ratchet’s instinctive fear of being dropped. It wouldn’t even hurt, and Megatron was more than strong enough for this. Ratchet could sense files being traded between his partners, but didn’t look too closely, focusing instead on settling himself comfortably against Megatron’s frame.

An image popped into his processor unbidden, him spread out on Megatron’s berth, Deadlock having his way with his hands while Megatron spiked him, the picture at once from both his partners’ points of view and an outside perspective. He leaned in further to rest his forehelm against the side of Megatron’s, and pulsed back assent. If nothing else, this was turning out to be a wonderful way to keep all their processors off of their own various troubles.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you, as this was written for RH) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


End file.
